


There's Always Next Year

by okaynextcrisis



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8642077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaynextcrisis/pseuds/okaynextcrisis
Summary: A typical Thanksgiving at the Adama-Roslin house





	

Thanksgiving for Laura Roslin began uneventfully enough, a few weeks before the actual date, not with a bang, but with a phone call. 

Bill leaned in the doorway of her home office, looking distinctly mopey.  "Lee doesn't think he'll be able to make it to Thanksgiving," he reported, his phone still in his hand.  "Apparently there's some big case at his new law firm, and he thinks it'll be all hands on deck through the holiday..."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Laura said, rising from her desk to wrap her arms around him.  "I know how you were looking forward to seeing him..."

Zak and Kara had been the next to cancel. 

"We just...have some things going on," Zak said, sounding harried, the noise of the restaurant where he worked loud in the background.  "Tell Laura we're sorry, Dad, would you?"

Laura privately thought "things" might have something to do with the palpable tension between the couple the last time she'd seen them together, but kept this suspicion to herself. 

When Ellen heard that both Zak and Lee weren't going to show, she suddenly became vague about her own attendance...and, as a result, Saul's. 

Because she loved her husband, Laura feigned sorrow over this news, too. 

It wasn't that she didn't want Bill's extended family....but she couldn't deny the lure of a quiet, romantic dinner, just the two of them, without the noise and inevitable drama that came with (Gods love them) every single person Bill knew. 

And then Billy called. 

He worked such long hours for her, was the thing.  He always remembered how she liked her coffee and which senators' calls she was specifically avoiding.  How could she take back her offhanded dinner invitation?  Particularly when he sounded so forlorn, and specifically mentioned that his previous plans had suddenly fallen through…

So it was going to be just her and Bill and Billy, a nice, simple holiday with just her favorite men named William.  She was looking forward to it.

And then the President called. 

Specifically, the President called Laura into the Oval Office, where he simultaneously crushed her hope in next year's budget and her plans for her nice, quiet holiday. 

"I'm sorry to ask this of you, Laura," Adar said from behind his desk, looking distinctly unsorry.  "But the British ambassador's going to be in town over the holiday, and we can't let him just sit in his hotel room."

Laura had had the pleasure of meeting Ambassador Baltar several times (although he never remembered) and privately thought that twenty-four hours uninterrupted hours in a swanky room with his date du jour would please him just fine. 

"I promised Lydia and the kids a family Thanksgiving," Adar pleaded, his eyes blazing with a sincerity that had to yet to win him even a fifty percent approval rating from the electorate.  “You don’t want me to disappoint my kids, do you, Laura?”

Laura recalled far less concern for the well-being of his progeny back when they’d been sleeping together, during the first campaign, but thought it best not to venture down that particular path today. 

“Of course not, Mr. President,” Laura said through gritted teeth.

She called Bill at his desk at the Washington Post.  "I'm breaking this to you in front of witnesses, so you can't kill me," she said when he picked up.  "Guess who's coming to dinner..."

So Thanksgiving was going to be something of a loss.  Laura had already privately begun to settle her hopes on Christmas, even as she shopped and planned for a holiday that now included a depressed assistant and a guest with diplomatic immunity. 

But the Wednesday before Thanksgiving dawned bright and clear, and Laura couldn't suppress a glimmer of optimism.  So it wasn't the dinner she'd intended.  She had her lovely husband, and just two guests to worry about, and whole afternoon to prepare, because she'd told Billy to inform Adar that if she was forced to entertain visiting dignitaries over the holiday, he could give her a few hours off to do it. 

And then the phone started to ring. 

"Hey, Laura, is it cool if Zak and I come tomorrow?" Kara asked.  "We were going to do our own thing, but my power went out again."

"Shouldn't you call someone about that?" Laura ventured. 

"Nah, they'll just tell me they want the bill paid," Kara said nonchalantly. 

This was exactly the kind of conversation Laura had known was coming two years ago, when she'd married a man with children, and now here it was, a situation that clearly called for stepmothering, and all Laura wanted to do was get off the phone so she could get back to rinsing cranberries with both hands. 

"Well, anyway, we'd love to have you," Laura managed, because it sounded like something the Laura she wanted to be would say. 

"Great!"  Kara replied, sounding genuinely enthusiastic.  "We'll probably be late.  Don't count on us to bring anything.  Bye!"

At least, Laura told herself, Bill would be happy.  And at least, with the addition of Kara and Zak, she'd still have an even number of guests. 

She had to buy a larger turkey; the one she'd originally purchased for her intimate dinner of two would no longer feed a gathering of six.  But she was lucky to find one at this late date, and that was the thing to focus on, she told herself. 

"It's going to be fine," she told Bill over the pizza he brought home that night, raising a slice of mushroom in triumph.  "We'll eat, we'll entertain Baltar, we'll send Billy home with leftovers, and then you and I will relax with a nice bottle of wine..."

Bill winced, his face creasing mournfully, the words apparently recalling something unpleasant.  "I forgot to tell you," he said. "Saul and Ellen are coming."

By six am on Thanksgiving, Laura's fighting spirit had returned, the coffee was strong, her turkey had defrosted nicely, and Bill's hand was halfway up the bird, because his mother had hated removing the gizzard, and so had groomed her son to take over the task from an early age.  Maybe it wouldn't be a relaxing holiday, but she and Bill were in it together, and they'd get through it...

Billy arrived first, around ten, looking unmistakably morose.  Laura set him to work crushing crackers to top her broccoli casserole.  Billy always cheered up when given a task, she figured. 

The kids, as Laura couldn't help but think of them, arrived shortly afterwards, despite Kara's dire prophecies of their late arrival.  Bill's younger son and his longtime girlfriend installed themselves (and their boot prints) on Laura's twelve-hundred-dollar leather couch in front of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, devouring cut vegetables as fast as Bill could slice then and keeping up a raucous running commentary on the floats, the poor lip-syncing, and the marching band uniforms of several area high schools.  Bill was clearly delighted, Billy occasionally cracked a smile, and even Laura would have found it almost charming, if it hadn't been for her fear that diplomatic relations between countries might be severed by an underdone turkey. 

It was hardly her first year putting on dinner.  But it was hard not to think that even the best combined Adama-Roslin culinary efforts would fall short of Gaius Baltar's standards.  She did not want to start Monday morning by being called on the Oval Office carpet. 

By the time Saul and Ellen rolled in (or staggered, a less charitable description might have been), the turkey was nicely browning, the stuffing was just the right amount of crunchy, the pumpkin pies were cooling, and Bill was perfecting the pepper in the mashed potatoes.  The kitchen smelled of rubbed sage and Judith Roslin's special tangy gravy recipe, Bill and Billy were laughing together (possibly at her, but Laura didn't mind) and even with the clearly drunken cackle of Bill's oldest friend in all the world, there was a warm glow in Laura's heart, a whisper in her mind that said _you're almost there, you've almost pulled it off_. 

And then the limousine pulled up outside the house. 

"Should I get the door, ma'am?" Billy whispered, as the three of them peered through a crack in the kitchen curtains. 

"Billy, you don't have to call me 'ma'am' in my own home," Laura said automatically.  "And you're not the butler.  I'll get it."

" _I'll_ get it," Bill decided, drying his hands on a dish towel.  He raised his voice.  "Everyone, the guest of honor is here."

Kara snorted loudly.  Zak hastily pulled his feet off the arm of the couch.  Ellen flicked her hair back from her shoulders and adjusted the neckline of her top. 

_We're doomed_ , Laura thought wildly, just as Bill opened the door.

Their guest stood in the doorway, running a hand through artfully mussed dark hair.  His long coat concealed what Laura had a sinking feeling would turn out to be a tuxedo; a thin red scarf was looped around his neck.  He held an elegant vase of flowers, an orange and red arrangement that called to mind falling leaves and apple cider. 

He raised a well-groomed eyebrow, peering past Bill’s outstretched hand to Kara and Saul’s unpressed faces, Zak’s baffled one, Ellen’s inviting smile, Billy’s frown, and finally what Bill called Laura’s Madame Secretary Face.  Whatever Gaius Baltar had been expecting, it was evidently not the motley crew before him. 

“Am I…in the right place?”

For a moment, Laura was tempted to tell him no.

“Welcome to our home!” she said instead, ushering him inside and gracefully accepting the flowers he appeared to have forgotten he was holding.  “This is my husband, Bill Adama; his son, Zak; this is Kara Thrace, and Saul and Ellen Tigh—“ Laura wasn’t quite sure how to explain either of them, so she thought it best to keep moving—“…and Billy Keikeya, my assistant.”

Ambassador Baltar made an awkward attempt at a smile.  “Hello.”

Conversation somewhat stalled from that point on. 

“Dinner will be in just a few minutes!” Laura went on, rushing to fill the gap.  “Bill, if you would help me with the carving?  In the meantime…Zak,” she decided, choosing the guest she thought least likely to intentionally cause an international incident, “will you make our guest feel at home?”

Zak, looking bemused at this level of responsibility, slid off the couch, gracing Baltar with a slap on the back that left Britain’s ambassador staggering. 

“It’ll be fine,” Bill told Laura, out in the kitchen, in an undertone.  “We just have to get through dinner—“

And then the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Kara offered, seeing that both Bill and Laura were up to their elbows in turkey. 

From her subsequent shriek of delight, Laura knew trouble had just walked in. 

"Lee!" Bill exclaimed, wiping turkey juice off his hands as he went to hug his elder son. 

Lee hugged his father back awkwardly.   "The case settled out of court," he explained, shrugging.  "Laura, I hope I'm not intruding, but I thought you wouldn't mind if we stopped by..."

"We?" echoed Kara, some of the excitement fading from her face. 

Lee nodded, maybe not quite meeting her eyes.  "Dad, Laura, everyone: this is my girlfriend, Anastasia Dualla."

A quiet gasp came from behind Laura.  "Dee?"

In Laura's defense, there was really no reason she should have seen this one coming. 

Their first look at Lee's date was of the blood draining from her very pretty face.  "Billy?"

Bill cleared his throat.  "I take it you two know each other?"

This, Laura could appreciate, presented an opportunity for both Billy and Dee to pass off what was clearly an incredibly awkward moment as merely the startle of recognition. 

Unfortunately, neither of the two parties were interested in playing along. 

"I thought we did," Billy put in with more than a hint of bitterness. 

Dee tugged on Lee's coat.  "We should go."

"Oh, come one, what's a holiday without an awkward ex or two?" Ellen said, flapping a hand.  "Leland, come kiss your Aunt Ellen."

Lee looked desperately around the room for someone to tell him what to do.  His gaze landed on Laura, who was focusing very hard on appearing stepmotherly instead of murderous. 

Baltar, his face alight for the first time since he'd walked through their door, stepped forward.  "I'm Ambassador Gaius Baltar," he said smoothly, holding Dee's hand between both of his.  "Would you allow me to show you around?"

Lee glanced at his father, who shrugged and held out his hand for their coats. 

Billy turned away, slicing bread with a worrying fervor. 

"Well, Happy Thanksgiving, man," Zak said, clapping his brother on the back.  "Glad you could make it."

"Me, too," Lee mumbled unconvincingly.   "Hey, Kara."

"Hey," she said coolly, arms crossed. 

Dee, meanwhile, looking miserable, was being led around by Gaius Baltar, who had her paused in front of the painting above the mantel in the living room.  Laura couldn't imagine what he could be saying about it, but he seemed to be finding plenty.  It was just a simple oil canvas of a little house on a hill, a gift to her from Bill on their first anniversary, a private joke about her oft-repeated desire to quit politics and go live in a cabin somewhere. 

Never had Laura felt that sentiment so strongly as just now. 

"We can get this whole thing over and done with in two hours," Bill whispered in her ear, coming up behind her. 

Laura thought that might be pushing even the bounds of civility, but she admired his optimistic spirit. 

"Let's get it all on the table," she whispered back, squeezing his hand.  "They can't talk while they're eating, right?"

As it turned out, they could...and did.

"...but then your legal system is so corrupt over here, isn't it?" Baltar was observing offhandedly to a dumbfounded Lee.  "I'm surprised you even bother holding trials anymore."

Billy was glaring at Lee over the mashed potatoes.  Lee hadn't noticed; he was too distracted by Kara's glare over the gravy. 

Zak, meanwhile, was busy fending off the advances of an increasingly inebriated Ellen Tigh.   Laura subtly slid the wine away from her side of the table.  If it got too bad, she supposed she could send Zak on some sort of errand...

"The food is wonderful," Dee put in from her seat beside Lee. 

It was too bad they'd probably never see her again; the young woman was fast shaping up to be Laura's favorite relative. 

"Thank you," Laura replied warmly.  "I was worried about the turkey, but I think it turned out nicely...Ambassador, can I serve you?"

Baltar coughed.  "I take it the President didn't mention I'm a vegetarian?"

No, Adar had not mentioned that particular tidbit.  Laura made a mental note to back the impeachment movement, the next time it was threatened by Congress. 

"I'm so sorry," Laura apologized, digging her nails into her palms beneath the table.  "Can I get you..." she trailed off, unsure what, exactly, she could do at this late date. 

"I'll manage," Baltar sighed, passing the platter of turkey along. 

Laura took a steadying sip of wine as her guest of honor ate a Thanksgiving dinner of seasoned green beans and canned cranberry sauce. 

"Can't trust anybody who doesn't eat meat," Saul rasped, who, to Laura's knowledge, had not spoken all night.  "Says somethin' about a person."

"I think it's great," Kara put in, purely out of spite, as far as Laura could tell.  "I've been thinking of giving up meat myself."

Lee rolled his eyes, mumbling something Laura didn't have to hear to know was not complimentary. 

"Really, babe?" Zak asked, cheerfully helping himself to a large serving of the breast. 

"Yes, really," Kara snapped, passing the platter without partaking. 

"And you were afraid there wouldn't be enough," Bill murmured in her ear. 

Laura snorted into her wine. 

"I think life is too short to deny yourself anything you want," Ellen said, sliding down oddly in her seat. 

Across the table, Zak let out a squeak. 

"Zak, could you...get more butter from the kitchen," Laura suggested desperately. 

Zak flashed her a smile of pure gratitude.  "Anything to help."

Unsurprisingly, he did not return. 

So Thanksgiving had been an unmitigated disaster, Laura reflected.  So her husband's friends were an embarrassment.  So the ambassador she'd been charged with entertaining had not enjoyed himself, and would probably be repeating the story of the terrible dinner and unpleasant company to everyone in Washington, and also probably London.  There was nothing she could do about it now, except breathe, and stay positive, and focus on next year, which she would spend in bed, with Bill, possibly on a tropical island. 

"This gravy is delicious," Dee said politely.  "I'd love to get your recipe."

Lee, shoveling food in his mouth with great speed, presumably so he and Dee could leave as soon as possible, just nodded. 

Baltar, scraping cranberry sauce around his plate, only sighed. 

"I better go see what's keeping Zak," Ellen said, getting unsteadily to her feet. 

"How soon can we get dessert in these people?" Bill whispered, leaning close. 

"I'll serve the pie if you can get between Zak and Ellen," Laura whispered back. 

Bill winced.  "Copy that."

There were nearly there, after all.  They just had to serve the pie.  And then everyone would go home, and she and Bill could eat leftovers in bed...

There came a crash from the kitchen, an ominous sound of glass smashing against the floor.  Even Laura, who had thought nothing would surprise her at this point, couldn't suppress a flinch. 

"Laura," came Zak's apprehensive voice, "there's been a slight mishap with the pie…”


End file.
